


Vanilla

by danpuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Death Eaters, Exhibitionism, M/M, One Shot, Painful Sex, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Safewords, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danpuff/pseuds/danpuff
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, others
Comments: 14
Kudos: 116





	Vanilla

The Forbidden Forest was never still, never silent. After dark, its liveliness was all the more prominent. Harry was unsure if this was because all of the _fun_ creatures came out at night, or if he was more aware of his surroundings in the darkness. Every rustling leaf, every cracking branch, had him gripping his wand all the tighter, eyes darting this way and that. 

_Lumos_ lit his way as he ambled forward, loosening his tie around the tightness in his throat. All he had to do was find his missing classmate - terrible thing, to be separated here. Whose idea was it anyway, sending students into the forest for detention? It had been bad enough as a first year, and no better now. Anything - anyone - could be here. 

There was heavy breathing nearby. An animal or - “Neville?” Harry stepped nearer, but behind him came a bloodcurdling scream. “Neville!” 

Without a second thought, Harry ran towards the sound. He broke through to the clearing, illuminated by bright moonlight. Illuminating two black-cloaked figures towering over one on the ground. Harry raised his wand. “ _Expelli-_ ”

“ _Expelliarmus_.”

His wand flew out of his hand, sailing behind him. Harry spun around to face that familiar voice. Another cloaked figure, bone-white mask hiding the face, but not the deep obsidian eyes. Mask and cloak did not disguise eyes or voice, not when he knew them so well.

“Snape,” Harry hissed, taking a step back. Then, remembering the figures behind him, turned. The two were helping the third to their feet - all cloaked, all masked. There was high-pitched feminine laughter from the third. Not Neville, then. 

“Tsk tsk, Potter,” Snape’s voice was amused. “That chivalry will be the death of you.” 

Harry side-stepped, keeping the four Death Eaters in his sight as he backed away. Unarmed, alone in the forest, and he still had to find Neville. If Neville was still alive. He heard movement behind him, and ahead of him. Three more Death Eaters entering the scene. Panicked, he ran forward, aiming for a free opening in the trees. It was only a mad hope, quickly dashed when the tallest of the lot darted forward to grab him. A low rumble of laughter in his ear just before he was thrown to the ground. 

“Who wants him first?” the man asked. 

Harry scrambled across the grass, trying to get to his feet, but a peal of thunder rang through the night. The shock of him made him trip, face first into the dirt. As he made to move, a tinkling female’s voice sang out, “ _Incarcerous_!”

Thick rope bound his wrists, but he managed to duck out of the way of a second spell. “The Dark Lord will want him now,” said another witch. 

_Voldemort_. Was he here? Was he coming? Harry had to leave - had to find Neville - had to warn the castle -

“He won’t mind us playing,” responded a quieter man. “ _Crucio_!”

But Harry ducked this, too. He got his feet under him, head ducked down, plowing forward. Two sets of arms caught him this time, flinging him back to the ground. This time, a man’s knee pressed into his chest. Dark hands began to part the black robes. “I think I’ll start with his mouth.”

Harry’s breath caught in his chest. “ _What?_ ”

“It’s my cock or the Cruciatus,” the man explained, hands now working at trousers. Harry shoved his feet uselessly at the dirt, trying to roll away, but the pressure on his chest was too much. Harry pressed his bound hands against the leg, trying to shove him off, but the second person grabbed his arms and held them down. Dark hands were now working at a leather belt.

“Enough,” Snape hissed, sweeping forward. “Potter is mine.”

“I can use his mouth while you use his arse,” the other man casually suggested. 

A flick of the wand, and the pair holding Harry down were stumbling back. Harry did not hesitate in scrambling to his feet, running forward as rain began to fall. 

Their words rang in his ear, but Harry did not spare them a second thought. He had to get out. _Now_. Get away. Get help. Voldemort.

They wouldn’t - they _couldn’t_ -

“ _Mine_ ,” Snape repeated still set on his companion. 

Snape didn’t need to worry about Harry. He had five other Death Eaters to help. Harry rammed right into one, trampling over him. He was almost to the trees when the shortest figure tripped him. Two witches grabbed him, hauling him over to the nearest tree. Harry fought out of their grasp, but only briefly. The taller of the two yanked him back by the hair. The shorter one was the stronger, and she pinned his bound wrists to the tree as Snape approached. 

“ _Incarcerous_ ,” panted the taller witch. Ropes slithered around his chest holding him against the tree trunk. Another _Incarcerous_ held his wrists above him. Harry growled in frustration, struggling against the binds as the women sank to their knees on either side of him, leaning in to peer at him. 

“Isn’t he just precious,” one of them cooed mockingly. 

“He’s going to be such fun,” the other sighed dreamily. 

“ _No_!” Harry barked as Snape stood before him, pale hands parting black robes, working at the fastenings of black trousers. Harry jerked against the ropes, kicking out his legs, twisting and squirming futilely. “No! No!” 

“Hold him,” Snape demanded. 

The stronger witch bound his flailing legs, then pulled them into her lap, holding them down. The other witch gripped his hair, yanking his head back. Her other hand squeezed tightly at his jaw. Harry screamed, an enraged sound fueled by his terror. The sound was cut off quickly as Snape pushed his thick cock into his mouth. Harry gagged around the invading member, tears stinging his eyes, throat fighting the intrusion.

“Shut up, Potter,” Snape grunted. 

Snape pulled back enough, and the witch loosened her grip enough, to allow him to cough, but before he could fully recover his breath, Snape was pushing back in. 

_This wasn’t happening, this was too much, it was too much, he couldn’t -_

“Leave something for the rest of us, eh, Snape?” joked one of the men. The others were gathered around now, watching. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and wished he could cover his ears, too. The cock pulled out of his mouth and flopped heavy and wet against his face. Harry coughed and gasped, struggling to catch his breath as they spoke.

“I’ll leave plenty for you,” Snape assured his comrades, amused. “I’ll fuck the fight right out of him.” He gripped his cock and slapped Harry’s cheek with it. Face burning, Harry tried to turn away, to hide. It occurred to him after a moment to try to fight more. He struggled against his bindings, but it was no use. When his legs kicked free of the witch’s hold, they were grabbed by another before he could kick Snape’s legs out from under him.

But what good what it do, with no wand - still bound - still surrounded by six other witches and wizards - 

“Stop!” Harry shouted, turning his head away as Snape pressed forward again. “Help! HELP!” Neville or Hagrid or someone must be around. Someone, _anyone_ -

A large, rough hand was slamming his head back, and Snape was shoving back into his throat. It _hurt_ \- he couldn’t _breathe_ \- Hot tears leaked down his cheeks. Snape’s hands were braced on the tree, just above his bound wrists. Glimmering black eyes stared down at him - he could feel the weight of that stare, but Harry kept his eyes tightly shut. Hands, strong hands, holding him down, holding him prisoner as Snape fucked into his throat. 

“Mouth like that needs to learn to take cock,” said a voice.

“He’s a crier - shoulda known!”

“Such a pretty thing, isn’t he?”

“Aww, I think he _likes it_.”

“Do you, Potter? Eh? Like that cock in your mouth?”

“If he likes that, wait until he has mine.”

“Yours? Pff. Pretty boy like that deserves a _real man_.”

“ _Potter_ ,” Snape growled. Without thinking, Harry’s eyes blinked open - blinked up at the intricate lines of the sinister mask. He could not see what face Snape was making, couldn’t even see his eyes from here. Pale hands slapped away the others and Snape took control, grabbed his hair and lifted him away from the trunk, twisted his head, plunged in at a new angle, in even _deeper_. Harry’s nose was buried in the coarse pubic hair, bitter fluid spurting down his abused throat - and he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t swallow, and he could barely think through the spinning of his head. 

When Snape pulled away from him, Harry slumped in his bindings, coughing and choking. He could feel some of the come sliding down his throat, but most spurted out of his mouth, and even his nose as he hacked and desperately gasped. The air was cool on his wet face - wet with tears and saliva and _Snape’s come_. A chill rolled down his spine, revulsion twisting his stomach, panic tightening in his chest. The surrounding Death Eaters laughed.

“Do you want to stop, Potter?” Snape teased.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry rasped out. “Never - wanted this - to start.”

Snape clucked. “What a shame. I don’t think we’re quite through with you yet.” The man sank to his knees before Harry, slipping his hand between Harry’s legs, palming him.

“What - are you - _doing_?” Harry gasped, wiggling away. 

“He’s giving you a hand, isn’t he?” joked one of the others. 

“No!” Harry snapped. “I don’t want - Stop! Stop it!”

But there was nothing he could do. Hands worked at his belt, button, and zip. Hands tugging down trousers and pants to expose his limp cock. Limp cock that hardened beneath Snape’s demanding strokes. Harry swallowed back the moan building in his throat. 

“Oooh,” one of the witches said. “I think he likes it.”

“No,” Harry denied, even as his hips flexed up into the hand. 

“I think he wants it.”

“He’s ready for it. Look at him!”

“Yes, I do believe he is,” Snape purred. 

“No,” Harry managed weakly, voice hoarse. Everything hurt - his scalp, his throat - wrists and ankles and chest - and yet he was _hard_. And he wasn’t fighting, not anymore, as the rope around his chest was cut, then the rope holding his arms and ankles. Only the rope binding wrists remained, and his hands fell into his lap. He should fight back - should try to get away - it was no use, but he threw himself forward. One of the witches laughed and shoved him, face first in the wet grass. 

There he breathed a moment. Licked his lips. Tasted the salty taste of come, and bitter bile rose in his throat. He glanced up at the dark gathering of trees ahead. Just - run. He could just -

“Hold him,” Snape commanded. 

Harry scrambled forward, but a boot pressed down between his shoulder blades. Someone else was tearing his trousers of his legs. One of his shoes came off with them, but the other remained half on his foot. Someone crouched to press a knee on his bound wrists. Hands grabbing his legs, pushing him up to his knees, pressing them apart, holding them down. Cool hands parting his cheeks, blunt cockhead pressing against his dry opening. Harry grunted and winced as Snape pushed forward, and it _burned_ , it was _too much_.

“Always difficult, Potter,” Snape spat. “ _Lubricus_.”

The sensation shot deep inside of him, sharply cool, and wet. Wet now, as Snape pressed forward - shoving through the guarding muscles. Harry cried out. Not much better, even with the lubricant. It was like being ripped in half. Familiar fingers wrapped around his flagging erection, stroking him back to arousal. Harry’s hips jerked. Arms and legs, tugging 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” muttered one of the women. 

The man in front of him had his own cock out, tugging with quick, firm strokes. “Shall I shut him up, Snape?”

“No,” Snape grunted, “I like - to hear him.” 

Immediately, and without thought, Harry bit his lip. The man holding his hands burst out laughing. “He’s a cute one, ain’t he?” Harry bit his lip harder as Snape plunged relentlessly into him - fighting roughly through the tightness. The coppery taste of blood spilled onto his tongue, salty tears slipping past his lips, and he held his breath against the whimper building in his throat. 

“Holding up there, Potter?” laughed the man pressing on his hands. 

Just - hands. Hands all over. Too many hands. And their _eyes_ they were - Harry blinked rapidly. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. Snape’s cock was gliding more easily into him. Harry’s nails dug into the grass. _Nails digging into his flesh_. The man in front of him was grunting as he stroked himself. One of the witches was cooing, but he couldn’t make out the words. None of the words were making sense anymore. Snape’s thumb rubbed over the head of his prick, and Harry gasped.

“Vanilla,” he whispered. Then, louder, “V-vanilla!”

The hands dropped from him immediately, his friends backing away. Only Severus remained close, carefully pulling out and freeing his bonds with a muttered spell. “Miss Lovegood, the bag.”

“No bag,” Harry said, pushing Severus onto his back and crawling over him. “Vanilla, remember?” 

Radish would have put an end to matters, but vanilla meant _comfort me_ , _remind me_ \- because above all else, Harry craved physical connection. And right now he did not want the blankets or pajamas or snacks in Luna’s bag. He needed his lover to love him. 

Harry fumbled for his wand in Severus’s robes, a whispered spell unbuttoning their shirts. Severus pulled off his mask as Harry stroked down his chest and stomach - over pale flesh, and dark hair, and old scars. Familiar, beloved territory. 

“Should we go, Harry?” Ginny asked concernedly.

Harry twisted his head to look at the others. Ginny, Luna, Draco, Neville, Tonks and Kingsley. Familiar faces. Friends. “No. Stay.” He reached behind him, holding Severus’s cock steady as he lowered himself. “Please.” 

“You’re hurt,” Severus accused as Harry cringed. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. Entry had been intentionally rough, but he didn’t mind the burn so much. He could be mended after. For now he cupped Severus’s face in both hands, tracing high cheekbones and hooked nose and thin lips - stared deep into the dark comfort of his eyes - stared deep into Severus his lover, not Snape the Death Eater. Harry rocked his hips with small motions, as much as he could leaned over Severus as he was. He needed to see him, and feel him, and smell him, and _remember_ -

It was only a dream. Only a fantasy. Severus was not a rapist. Severus was his lover, and he loved him enough to do this. 

And the others -

Harry looked over his shoulder again. Ginny and Tonks were erecting an open white tent over Luna, who was unpacking the bag. Neville was watching Harry and Severus, back to stroking his cock. Draco and Kingsley were nearby, kissing ardently, tugging at one another’s clothes. 

Strong arms wrapped securely around him as Severus sat up and shifted onto his knees. Harry locked arms and legs around him as Severus maneuvered them around. Seated in Severus’s lap this way, it was easy to look up and see his friends, and look down at his lover. Harry kissed his temple, still examining the familiar faces. “Thank you.” 

Together, clinging close, they moved. The pain never faded - only grew with every nudge of the cock inside of him. But the pleasure grew, too, his own hardness pressed against Severus’s stomach and gentle, safe hands touching him. And watching, too - watching Neville and Tonks touching themselves- watching Luna in Ginny’s lap, kissing softly - watching Kingsley pressing Draco against a tree - 

Watching Severus, watching him. 

By the end Harry was crying again, though he couldn’t say why. Severus laid him back into the grass, holding him close, and Harry grasped his face, never looking away, barely daring to blink. Severus did not complain about the nails in his face or his neck when Harry finally came, sobbing. He followed soon after, panting “Fuck” into Harry’s fringe. Then he kissed the famous scar and whispered, “I love you” and gathered Harry into his arms. 

In the tent, his filthy clothes were removed and Severus wiped him down with a warm towel. Wiping away blood and mud from his thighs. Wiping the snot and come from his face. Once clean, he was dressed in his softest pajamas and bundled into a thick, fuzzy blanket on a cot. There Severus joined him, holding him in one arm and using the other to ply him with pain potions and calming potions and pumpkin juice. 

Only when he was breathing evenly, head resting against Severus’s chest, did his lover ask, “Are you ready to talk?”

Harry shook his head and nuzzled deeper into his lover’s embrace. He had wanted this so much, and was not ready to deal with his frustration or embarrassment. He did not understand why he had been so overwhelmed, so panicked tonight. It had always excited him, imagining the hands and the eyes and the jeers of Death Eaters. How many times had he come into his own hand, thinking of a Death Eater holding him down and raping him? And in the end, each time, an arm breaking free, reaching up to snatch away the mask -

And it was always Severus. Always.


End file.
